She has cold hands. They say it's just bad circulation, and it probably is. But it fits her quite well, and it's not just her icy skin that makes people flinch back in terror. The cold comes from somewhere within her, but they don't know where. As she touches them she gives a slight smile, either awkward or mocking. They don't know where it comes from. They don't see her often. One day she's with them, and the next she's gone again.

Sometimes, she wonders why her hands feel like that. She moves her fingers, rubs them together, and tries to find warmth. Still she can see the small red veins, running beneath her skin. Still they stand out clearly, to her eyes at least. It is a half-hearted effort. At times she could use some comfort, the kind that other people get from clutching their hands together. Sometimes she doesn't mind so much. The cold is a part of her, and she feels that it comes straight from her heart, as frozen blood runs through her veins. Cold like someone's dead body.

She doesn't care. She's a perfect little actress, and she loves to play dead.